


Serpent underneath

by thatsthefrailtyofgenius



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, but we'll see where it takes me, i'm still not sure where this is going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8410462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsthefrailtyofgenius/pseuds/thatsthefrailtyofgenius
Summary: Even world class assassins can pout sometimes





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well would you look at that, I'm writing an assassin AU for the White Sisters. 
> 
> I have no idea what this will amount to but I'm doing it anyway. The chapters will be short, but might get longer if my original plan developes into something more discernible. 
> 
> Lemme know what you think :)
> 
> Dee xx

“How long does it even take to get a plane from Russia?” Lachlan frowns. Chrissie finishes chewing a cookie and glances down at the plate before she draws in a discreet breath and shrugs.

“She’s finishing up a few things beforehand,” she replies, managing to sound nonchalant. She’s never been more grateful for her father walking in, distracting her son from asking anymore questions she’ll be a little hard pressed to answer. It’s not that she’s a bad liar; in fact, she’s a fantastic liar. She wouldn’t be where she is if she wasn’t, but she hates keeping things from Lachy.

“Shouldn’t you be at school? I’m sick of getting phone calls about your lateness all the time”

Lachy rolls his eyes and huffs, dragging his bag up over his shoulder and pressing a kiss to Chrissie’s cheek before leaving through the back door.

“How long till she gets here?”

“A few hours at most,” Chrissie sighs heavily, sitting back in her chair and rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her hands, already stressed out.

“She won’t be _that_ bad”

“Dad,” Chrissie says matter-of-factly “it’s Bex. She’ll be awful”

“She’s your sister”

“Exactly!” Chrissie throws her hands up in the air “do you know how much effort it’s taken to build this life? She never let go of the old one”

“You know you love her”

“I love her when she’s behaving herself,” Chrissie corrects him, pouting as he makes her a cup of tea “decidedly not when she’s terrorising the locals”

“Just tell her to leave her knives at the house before she goes down to the village”

“I don’t leave my knives at home,” she huffs “I doubt she will”

“Just use your business voice, I’m sure she’ll fall into line”

Chrissie grimaces. She hates using her business voice. Well, not hates, so much as gets a bit of an adrenaline fix out of it. It’s been perfected over two decades, and she has yet to meet anyone impervious to her own icy glare or cutting demands. Except for Bex. Bex has always been the exception to all the rules. Of everything. Ever.

“я ненавижу свою жизнь,” Chrissie grumbles, relaxing into her father’s hands when they rub soothing circles into her shoulders.

“Я не поднимал, чтобы ты королева драмы”

“Вы король драмы королев!”

Chrissie knows she’s being petulant and immature, but even world class assassins can pout sometimes; god knows Bex is famous for it. Clearing the plate of cookies away, she trudges off to her bedroom to change into a suit and heels, hoping that somewhere along the way she’ll remember that she’s a grown woman.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Bex.
> 
> Lemme know what you think.
> 
> Dee xx

Bex arrives early.

She likes to be early for almost everything; being late is good when you want to make someone nervous, but being early means you give yourself time to look comfortable in an environment you’re not used to.

And she’s absolutely not used to the Yorkshire Dales.

No one’s in when she gets there, and the doors are locked. Not a problem of course, but Chrissie will chew her out later for picking the mechanisms.

Closing the door behind her, she throws her bag down and flops on one of the nearest sofas, legs wide open. She sniffs at her own armpits and makes a face. She still smells mildly of blood. Mixed with the scent of plane sweat, the left-over adrenaline of her latest trip, and the change in time zone, she’s a very grumpy girl.

The plan had been to fall asleep on the spot for a while until Chrissie gets back, but the Walther in the sheath near her ass is digging into her thigh and she still feels too restless to remain still.

Resigning herself to being awake for at least the next five hours, she stands again and goes in search of a bath.

The house is… big. Not the biggest she’s ever stayed in, but still big. There are warm, dark colours everywhere and all the surfaces are polished and aristocratic. It’s a decent combination of homely and posh, but Bex grins when she spots the little accents of Chrissie coming through. The hidden go pros in between books on shelves, the concealed weapons strapped to the underside of cabinets, the panic buttons and rigged explosives.

Perhaps, she thinks, as she finds a bathroom to her liking and immediately strips, turning on the hot water and tying her mass of blonde hair behind her, she might not feel so out of place here after all.

She’s known loads of pleasures in her time; money, fur coats, the best food the world has to offer. But nothing has been quite as satisfactory as a scolding hot bath after a kill and a long flight. There’s nothing like the warmth that seeps into her bones, liquefies her muscles, draws the grime from her hair.

There’s a clump missing from the back where her mark had grabbed and yanked in an effort to escape – the bastard. She’s aware that getting on a plane at an airport crawling with authorities covered in the DNA of the bloke she’d just shot between the eyes, had been a risky move. But if she’d left it any longer, Lachy would have gotten suspicious, and she knows how Chrissie hates making excuses for her.

Letting out a deep sigh she hadn’t known she’d been holding in, she closes her eyes and sinks further under the water, toes flexing and clicking where they sit near the taps.


	3. Chapter 3

Chrissie rolls her eyes as she goes to unlock the front door and finds it already open.

She can’t say she’s very surprised, but her hand goes to the knife under her jacket at her behind regardless, just in case.

Stepping silently over the threshold, even in her heels, she wets her lips and steadies her breathing. Its only when she sees Bex’s giant duffle bag near the armchair that she relaxes, smirking to herself.

Whilst her sister tends to bring a storm of chaos in her wake everywhere she goes, she has missed her. Bex has been her partner for so long, her best friend, her only other confidant. For a while, she’d thought maybe Robert could be that too, and now she hates herself for how stupid she’d been to trust him.

“If you’re hiding ready to pounce on me, I advise against it,” Chrissie calls out as she goes to the kitchen and places her Gucci on the countertop, stepping out of her heels and rummaging around for a bottle of wine and two large glasses.

When she stands back up, Bex is leant over the counter grinning from ear to ear. She’s dressed in a silk dressing gown and her hair is wet, tied up behind her head. All at once, Chrissie’s eyes are glassing over and her breath is hitching and Bex’s grin fades into an expression of concern. She steps forward and takes the wine from her hands, holding her arms out and pulling her in.

Without explanation, without understanding why, Chrissie is sobbing uncontrollably against her sister’s shoulder, gripping desperately at her waist.

“I’m sorry,” she cries, feeling infinitely even more stupid “I’m so sorry I look ridiculous”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Bex tuts, one hand stroking through her hair “hey, c’mon, even deadly killers cry sometimes, it’s okay”

And for a moment, Chrissie almost believes her.


	4. Chapter 4

Rebecca wakes the next morning to her sister snoring against her neck from behind. She huffs, wincing at the long line of light streaming in through the gap in the curtains.

“Get the fuck off me,” she nudges Chrissie in the ribs “I need a piss”

“вы такой мудак по утрам,” Chrissie groans as she rolls in the opposite direction, shoving her face in the pillow on the other side of the bed. Squinting and stumbling to her feet, Bex makes a face as she tugs out a wedgie, feet clumsy where they path the way to the en suit.

She yawns loudly, poking the sleep from her eyes with her long fingernails as she plonks herself down on the toilet seat. She smirks at her face in the mirror though; even when she’s half-awake, hair a bird’s nest on her head, no make-up on, she looks damn good.

She flushes and hears Chrissie getting up and heading downstairs. Shedding her silk slip, Bex steps under the hot spray of a shower and yawns again, tipping her neck back and letting the water seep into her muscles, unkinking the knots and loosening the tension headache gathering behind her eyes.

When she’s dressed in D&G skinnies, riding boots, a white t-shirt, and her shearling jacket, she goes to sit in the garden for a coffee and a cigarette, watching the sun get higher in the sky and spread a burnt orange light across the dales. She breathes in the crisp scent of November cold and lets herself smile, sitting back and thinking she might be able to get used to this. Just for a little while.

After pointedly ignoring Lachlan, and sneakily tapping his phone before slipping out the house, she settles into her Rolls-Royce Ghost Saloon. Before starting it up, she makes sure she’s still got her Walther in its shoulder holster under her coat, and her knives in their sheaths against her calves.

The drive down to the village isn’t something she thought she’d enjoy so much. The roads are long and smooth and surrounded by lush greens, yellows and browns. It’s so different, to pass the cows grazing in the fields and the sheep chewing on the grass. This whole scene is entirely foreign to her, but its not unwelcome. There’s a charm to it that calms the remnant of adrenaline in her veins.

She parks up outside the pub and takes comfort in the keys and wallet jingling in the pocket of her jeans, not normally able to revel in such trivial little things.

She takes the stool at the far corner of the bar near the entrance, so she has the best vantage point to view the entire crowd; not too busy at this time of morning, but not empty either.

“Alright, love?”

“Pint please,” Bex grins, winking at the woman behind the bar. She’s short, but her rough, experienced demeanour more than makes up for her lack of height. Her hair is a dark black colour, soft and whispy over her shoulders. Wrinkles crease the corners of her gentle, but calculating eyes and it peaks her attention.

“Sure,” the woman says, moving to pull it for her “you aint from round here?”

“No,” Rebecca confirms “I’m visiting my sister, Chrissie”

The woman’s stance changes then, becoming slightly more defensive, and far more suspicious, although the small smile remains on her thin lips.

“Right”

“Uh oh,” Bex says, handing over the money and sipping at her drink “I promise I come in peace. I’m not here to ruffle feathers. Its more of a holiday than anything”

“Where you come from then?”

“Russia,” Bex answers honestly, smirking as the woman, Chas she thinks she heard Chrissie mention on the phone once “I work there”

“You wont be too pissed off with the cold then”

“Definitely not,” Bex says, choosing then to shrug out of her jacket and place it on the stool beside her, paying no heed to the visible gun against her ribs, not missing the way Chas’ eyes widen “I’m a bounty hunter,” she lies.

“Like one of those people that make people pay debts”

“Yes,” Bex laughs slightly at the simple explanation “one of those”

“You don’t look like a bounty hunter”

“What were you expecting?” she snorts a little, letting her eyes scan Chas’ body briefly, wetting her lips “a balding redneck with a shotgun?”

“Shit, no,” Chas replies “just not… you”

“I get that a lot, don’t worry”

“I wasn’t”

Bex continues smirking at her, watching her mannerisms and storing them away. Her brain doesn’t register her as a threat, but not as a friend either. More someone to keep an eye on; someone not to be trifled with. She’s beautiful anyway, that’s what stands out to Bex the most. Beautiful and a little haunted, but strong and unyielding. Regardless, Chastity Dingle has her respect.

She stays in the pub for most of the day, switching between lager and Pepsi, and getting to know the locals.

They’re a varied bunch.

She gets along with Aaron, and she doesn’t know what Chrissie will think of that, but there’s something about him. She supposes he gets it from his mum. That kindness in amongst determined strength, a grumpy compassion that’s refreshing and endearing to some strange part of her.

And he makes her laugh. They have the same dry humour, the same values when it comes to loyalty and self-preservation. They protect their own. She also spends ten minutes watching him get excited about her car, which is fucking adorable.

Seeing Robert again is a little weird, but she remains as civil as her temper will allow her, at least for Aaron’s sake. He looks at the asshole like he hung the moon, and Aaron seems to tug on the protective instincts in her gut, so she doesn’t pick a fight.

She even shakes his hand.

If she squeezes his fingers too hard, Robert’s smirk never falters, as usual.

She also inwardly groans because holy fucking shit the village is full of absolutely gorgeous women. Like it makes her soul hurt. She actually nearly short-circuits when she meets Leyla; a tall, slender, stunningly awkward woman with beautiful eyes and an affinity for putting her foot in her mouth. When Leyla buys her a drink she nearly cries.

She doesn’t, of course. Assassins don’t cry just because a pretty girl is nice to them.

Except they kind of do. Just discreetly. Inwardly. Whatever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adapting to normal civilian life is hard when someone is being an asshole to your crush.

They do so well.

A whole two weeks without an incident.

The villagers take to Bex in the way she thought they would. With suspicion, a little bit of wariness, and then when she’s turned on the charm, they warm to her but remain aware of her outsider status. She’s the random White sister who popped up out of nowhere wearing a gun and swearing in sharp Russian when her car won’t work properly.

She continues to be drawn to Leyla. With her tall heels, long legs, and a smile like sunshine, Rebecca can’t help but gravitate towards her whenever she’s around, sitting close and listening to ever word that comes out of her soft mouth.

She thinks that maybe people don’t sit and really pay attention to Leyla sometimes. Maybe it’s the primary colours of her stylish clothes, or the rumoured ‘insecure mess’ she is – Bex bristles at overhearing that conversation, but manages to keep herself in check.

But she doesn’t know how anyone can know Leyla and not want to spend every waking minute talking to her, laughing at her cheeky jokes, her dorky impressions of different celebrities, and the way her Yorkshire accent gets thicker when she’s not paying attention to what she’s saying.

She manages quite well without an incident until Jai, some business prick with an affinity for selfishness, has a tiff with Leyla in the pub and calls her a truly horrific name before thinking he can just leave.

The cocksure swagger vanishes from his posture as Bex’s knife makes a whoosh noise through the air before sticking in the wood of the doorframe, actually grazing his ear slightly on its travels. The entire room, previously bustling with chatter, goes absolutely silent, and Leyla stands a few feet away, mouth open, eyes wide in shock.

Bex is still seething, a storm of rage locked below the surface of her skin, curling a dangerous smirk across her lips. She stands, walking so that her every step is a clear clack of solid boot on the floor, stopping centimetres away from Jai’s face. She slowly raises her hand and he flinches violently, but she just tugs the knife from the wood and slips it back in its holster, still smirking.

“Sorry, Chas,” Bex says, not breaking eye contact with Jai “I’ll pay for damage. Are you coming?” she turns her head finally, addressing Leyla for the first time “we’ll get lunch in Hotton”

Leyla takes a few seconds to snap out of a bewildered haze, blinking a few times and closing her mouth again, swallowing heavily. If Bex feels a flicker of nerves at not being able to read her expression, she doesn’t let it show. Eventually however, Leyla nods once, the ghost of a smile on her lips as she steps forward.

“Call a taxi outside, I’ll be out in a minute. It’s okay,” Bex says when Leyla goes to say something “I’m not going to hurt him”

“The fucking knife you nearly stabbed me with says otherwise,” Jai spits, still clearly terrified, but more angry than anything.

“Are you sure?” Leyla asks, a small frown creasing her brow. Bex nods and winks at her. She blushes slightly, but nods again and passes through the double doors.

“You never call a woman a whore again,” Bex tells him, looking straight at him once more “I’ll gut you”

“Your aim is ridiculous; you missed. I don’t think I have much to worry about,” Jai replies, attempting to put up the cocksure façade again.

She lets out a small breathy laugh and wets her lips, moving so there’s barely a hairs breadth between them and narrows her eyes.

“Who says I missed?”


End file.
